


Most important meal of the day

by MemeKon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKon/pseuds/MemeKon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dylan is all sleep soft, pink on his cheeks, loose lipped, smiling up at him as he scratches at the trail of hair under his navel. </p><p>Tyler stares at him for longer than is proper, mouth going dry, and scalds himself a little pouring coffee over his hand instead of into his cup.</p><p>“Fuck,” he mumbles then, sucking his finger into his mouth, and looking for a rag.</p><p>“That looks like it hurts, bro.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most important meal of the day

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anon on tumblr, who asked for rimming + hobrien.  
> (Also, I'm still taking requests, so you should go leave me a prompt there!)

Dylan is all sleep soft, pink on his cheeks, loose lipped, smiling up at him as he scratches at the trail of hair under his navel.

 

Tyler stares at him more than is proper, mouth going dry, and scalds himself a little pouring coffee over his hand instead of into his cup.  
  
“Fuck,” he mumbles then, sucking his finger into his mouth, and looking for a rag.  
  
“That looks like it hurts, bro.”  
  
Dylan drapes himself all over Tyler’s back then, rubs his stubbled chin on Tyler’s naked shoulder as he cleans up his mess, still sucking on his stinging finger as he tries not to lean into Dylan’s body heat.  
  
“Want me to make it better? Want me to kiss your boo boo?” Dylan’s lips brush against his earlobe and Tyler shivers, reacts viscerally even though Dylan’s working up this playful smarm, being all  deceitfully coy and sweet to him because he knows how that gets him.  
  
“Want some coffee?” He asks Dylan as he pours himself a cup after he’s done wiping up the mess. He can feel himself blushing and is grateful to both their positions, Dylan all over his back, and to his beard, because they help him hide that up.  
  
Dylan always makes him feels so childish. Like he’s sitting at the grownups’ table, getting humored on his whims, watched the back on forth of the adults on things he can’t grasp, that leave him kicking his legs and staring around in wonder.  
  
And maybe it’s a terrible analogy because kids don’t-- kids don’t want the way he does, obviously.

 

But it’s the way he feels, all lost and tongue tied, like Dylan’s always finding him too naive, like he’s two seconds away from clucking his tongue matronly at him and petting his hair and calling him Tyler Lee like his mom did way back when he actually was a kid messing things up.  
  
“Nah. Thanks, though. That’s considerate of you. Wanting to provide for me.”

 

Tyler can hear Dylan’s smirk.   
  
“You know what I want?”   
  
Tyler traces the rim of his cup with a finger, licks at his bottom lip, shuffles his feet a little.   
  
Dylan huffs a tiny laugh against his throat then, gets his hand on the waistband of Tyler’s sweatpants, lets his fingers skim over the tiny folds of cloth there and the taut skin over; Tyler feels warm and tingly where Dylan’s touching him, feels like every nerve on his body is wherever Dylan gets his curious fingers.  
  
“I-- Okay,” he says.   
  
He feels like that sums up his relationship with Dylan, a little. Dylan looks up at him with his big, expressive eyes and works him a up a little and he’s just useless against it, he’s always following. Dylan asks for whatever he wants and he gives it up.   
  
Dylan takes him to the bedroom, makes quips about having something better for breakfast, wiggles his eyebrows at him, and Tyler has to smile at him, big and unwavering because God, how is there someone out there like Dylan who’d want to wait for someone like him to catch up?  
  
“You look like a big, goofy ball of sunshine,” Dylan tells him, and turns them around so that Tyler’s the one backing them up to the bed. “I like it when you’re all scrubby in the mornings. Gonna give me some sick beard burn with your unkempt manly mane?”  
  
Dylan’s knees buck when they reach the bed and Tyler puts his hand under Dylan’s head, even though the fall is short and they both bounce off the mattress when they impact. It’s instinct. Dylan gets all soft at him, gives him this side lift of his lips that feels a lot like he’s saying what am I gonna do with you?

 

“I shaved yesterday,” he says, and puts his chin on Dylan’s pale shoulder, rubs his stubble there a little, tries to hide his face because in quiet moments like these he feels transparent and big and clumsy and more than a little dumb.  
  
“And you still look all grizzly,” Dylan replies, splaying the fingers of one hand around the back of Tyler’s neck, holding him loosely as Tyler kisses a path up from his shoulder to his collarbone to right where his Adam’s apple is.  
  
Tyler nuzzles his nose against Dylan’s throat and rises up to smile against Dylan’s lips before diving in to kiss him; just a short, chaste thing that’s all him being sentimental and clingy and a bit of a prude.   
  
Dylan lets out a tiny huff, takes his hand off from Tyler’s neck to place it on his ass, pushing him down as he tries to buck up and rub their clothed dicks together.   
  
“Let me eat you out.”  
  
It’s only when Dylan’s nodding at him, and crawling backwards to hit the headboard with him following as if on a leash, that he realizes that was him saying that, that was him all rough and needy and asking Dylan to let him eat his ass out.

 

He hides his face by burying it on Dylan’s stomach, holds his hips as he breathes quietly in and out a few times, trying to will a blush down; he mouths at the pale skin there while he’s at it, dips his tongue inside Dylan’s hairy navel, and when he gets squirmy he pins him down more firmly, uses his weight to his advantage ‘til Dylan gives the struggle up.

 

He gasps a little when Tyler rubs his nose over his crotch, plants an open mouthed kiss over it, getting the fabric under his lips and tongue all wet. He opens his legs, gives Tyler space to nest himself there and he promptly forgets what he was doing, why he was hiding, gets a little lost sucking on the head of Dylan’s dick through sweatpants and boxers.  
  
Dylan sighs, cards his fingers through his hair, pets him slow and distracted and Tyler leans a little into the touch before getting distracted by Dylan reaching his other hand to give himself a lazy tug through his clothes, right under his nose, knuckles brushing against his face.  
  
Before he can put more thought into it, he’s leaning back on his knees, softly slapping Dylan’s hand away and pulling his sweatpants and underwear off, and then he’s leaning in to lick a stripe from the base of Dylan’s half hard dick to the crown, dipping the tip of his tongue in the slit and making Dylan hiss at him, fist at his hair.  
  
“I’m eating you out now,” he rasps, and takes a hold of Dylan’s thighs, parts them as far as they can go, reaches for a pillow to put under him so he’ll be comfortable, so he doesn’t have to put him on his belly, so he can stare up at his filling dick and at his face.  
  
“Thanks for the heads-up, man,” Dylan replies, and Tyler bites at his inner thigh in retort to the jest, even as he’s planting his hands on his butt and squeezing before angling him up so he can bend down and drag the flat of his tongue from his balls to his hole.  
  
“Oh,” Dylan sighs out, and tries to support himself on his elbows to angle himself better, to get Tyler’s face where he wants it. When Tyler holds him where he is and just blows a tiny gust of cold air over his pink, puckered hole, he makes a frustrated noise, asks him, “Can you move? Let me get on my stomach?”  
  
Tyler rearranges himself on the bed, gets on all fours, buries his nose on the crease of Dylan’s groin, where his thigh meets his hip, licks at the hairs there like he’s grooming him, and then blinks up at him, feeling all sleepy and sex fogged, says, “I want to see your face,” and he’d feel vulnerable and exposed but he wants too much for it.  
  
He dives back in, misses Dylan’s reply as he spreads Dylan’s cheeks and rubs his thumbs on Dylan’s hole, bends his head to press the tip of his tongue there, feeling the tension of the muscle giving.   
  


He gets a little lost jabbing at the tiny ring of muscle, pausing to press the flat of his tongue there, and to kiss at it with loose, pliant lips, getting his spit everywhere.

 

Dylan yanking at his hair takes him by surprise, makes him grunt and lean into his hand as he looks up at him, takes in his red, flustered cheeks, the blown pupils of his eyes.  
  
“I said,” he tells him, slow and determinate, and like he’s been talking at him for a long time without managing to get his attention, “that I’m gonna sit on your face. We can’t have an old man like you straining his back.”  
  
Tyler lets Dylan grab at him and manhandle him, lets him touch him all over, hands grabbing at his arms and at his wrists, and at his hips, before he’s pinning him down and sucking a kiss on his chest.  
  
“We should get rid of these,” he says, fingers trailing at the waistband of his pants, “They are Tanner’s, right? Don’t wanna get unholy jizz all over them.”  
  
Tyler’s about to tell him not to bring his brother up in bed, but gets distracted by Dylan’s hands on him, massaging at the skin on his hips, digging his thumbs in before taking his pants off, slowly, one leg at a time, taking the time to trace the contours of his leg muscles.  
  
“So toned,” he says, and Tyler blinks up at him, feeling slow and hot. “I can’t get mine to look like yours.”  
  
“Your legs are pretty,” he replies, and when Dylan looks up from between his legs with a raise eyebrow he has to fight the urge to cover his face up with a pillow.  
  
“Thanks, man,” Dylan says then, smiles at him, caresses his thigh, kneads the muscles there before tugging a few times on his dick.   
  
He gasps and bucks up, trying to chase Dylan’s fist, to fuck into it. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was before, but Dylan’s fingers around him make him desperate and ready, make him feel all aching.  
  
“Do you want me to suck you off first?” Dylan asks, and his wrist twists a little, jerks him just the way that makes his toes curl, and he’s smirking at him, being all smug that he knows exactly how to get him gasping and grabbing at the comforter.  
  
“No,” he manages, “no, get up here, I want to--,”  
  
Dylan cuts him off with a kiss, slips him some tongue, and it feels dirty; dirtier than all the other things they’ve done, because he can probably taste himself on Tyler’s mouth. He’s gasping when Dylan pulls back, feels like he’s one stroke away from coming, like it’d be that easy for Dylan to bring him off; just jerk him a little, kiss him with tongue, and blow his mind. As easy as that.

 

“I love it when you get all needy,” Dylan tells him as he crawls up his body, brackets his shoulders with his slender, wiry legs, looks down at him all mischievous, holds his own cock and jerks himself lazily, draws Tyler’s eyes there, to the slow and loose up and down motions of his hand.   
  
He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t make a conscious decision, he just gets his hands on Dylan’s ass, pushes him forward, opens his mouth so he can take the head of his cock, wrap his lips around it and suck a little.  
  
Dylan moans, melts into him, holds onto the wall with one hand and keeps jerking himself slowly into his mouth.  
  
Dylan fucks into his mouth for a few thrusts, pushes his hips and leans his head on his forearm and licks at his lips, bites at them, makes them all pink, and Tyler opens his a little more, wants to get him to come on his, wants to stare up at his open face as he comes all over his face, a little on his tongue, on his lips.  
  
Dylan drags himself away when it’s getting heady and sloppy, though, lifts himself up, and Tyler wants to chase, wants him tangy and warm and heavy on his tongue.  
  
“I wanna come with you tongue in my ass,” Dylan tells him then, a hand on his chest, holding him back.   
  


Tyler nods, paws at Dylan’s hips, helps him along as Dylan so, so carefully sits on his face, holding himself up a little as if worried he will crush him, or choke him.  
  
Tyler rubs his ass cheeks tenderly before parting them, helps Dylan sit on him, helps him sit on his parted lips, on his waiting tongue, breathes deeply and has to moan with his lips on Dylan’s skin, right over his tight hole, because it’s Dylan and his sweat, the smell of his precome, the faint lingering scent of the soap he borrows from Tyler when he stays over. It’s him, above him and all around him, and he feels a little gross at how much it turns him on, how it makes him want to fist himself and curl in on himself and come on his hand quick and gasping, hidden like he’s just starting to learn what his dick can do, how good it can feel.  
  
He kisses Dylan’s core, open mouthed and filthy, puts his hands on Dylan’s hips and pushes him downwards, tries to get more, tries to get closer; he’s lapping at Dylan’s hole and dipping the tip of his tongue inside, jabbing a few times before rubbing his lips against the muscle, giving it sweet, soft kisses that make Dylan sigh above him, make him squirm.  
  
“That’s it, you’re doing great. You’re so good at this, your tongue is so good.”

 

The praise makes him feel warm and accomplished, like he’s been given a golden star for being a well-mannered kid at class.  
  
It shouldn’t make him get a hand around his dick, shouldn’t make him fuck into his fist as he tries to fuck his spit into Dylan’s hole with the flat of his tongue, but it does.  
  


“Such a good boy,” Dylan sighs out, gets a hand on his dick again, jerks himself off lazily.  
  
Tyler tightens his hand around his own cock, feels his hips stutter off their own accord, and just as the ring of muscle gives enough to let him slip his tongue inside he’s coming all over his own fingers, all hair trigger, such a good boy playing in a loop in his mind as he’s curling his toes and getting tremors, ropes of come sliding down his fingers, onto his wrist.  
  
Dylan looks down at him, a little surprised, but then he just smiles, bears his ass down a little harder, makes Tyler sink a little deeper, and starts jerking himself faster, with purpose, as he looks down, eyes hooded.  
  
Tyler lets Dylan fuck himself on his tongue, puts his come covered hand on Dylan’s hip, opens his mouth and closes his eyes, lets Dylan ride his face, feels all orgasm dizzy.  
  
“I’m close,” Dylan gasps out a few seconds later, and he blinks his eyes open because he wants, needs, to watch. Dylan’s rocking back and forth between Tyler’s face and his own fist, a little steady, without any real rhythm, chasing his orgasm a little desperately, still looking down at him.  
  
Tyler holds his gaze and curls his tongue, again and again, sucks a little on him, rubs his lips, brings his other hand to Dylan’s other hip and holds him down as he fucks up, up, up, tongue curling and jabbing up ‘til Dylan starts squirming over him, slumps a little as he quickens his hand’s pace and comes.   
  
Tyler is enraptured, feels lightheaded as Dylan’s come leaks over his fast and onto his own face, as spurts of it get on his hair, on his cheekbone.  
  
“I got you all dirty,” Dylan tells him, as he holds himself against the wall with a shaking arm, legs still quivering a little at his sides.   
  
He hums, still tongue deep in Dylan, prodding at his core. He makes a particularly enthusiastic jab and Dylan hisses, over sensitive, and tries to get up. Tyler’s hands are still on him though, holding him still as he fucks into him, gets him wet and sloppy and loose.  
  
Dylan looks like he’s about to protest, but he ends up slumping against the wall, leaning his forehead on his forearm when Tyler starts massaging his cheeks, kneading at the muscles, and trades the jabbing motions of his tongue for softer kittenish licks.

 

“Okay,” Dylan agrees then. “You can do your thing.”  
  
Tyler digs his fingers on a particularly stiff spot, gets to working the tension out.   
  
“Yeah, you’re welcome, you weirdo.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://memekon.tumblr.com)


End file.
